


What Happens In Schiphol

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Hangover, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest part of telling the truth is the inevitable hangover the morning after</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original Prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=261592#t261592)

He should have noticed it earlier. That's what ultimately surprised Douglas. It wasn't the way he found out, it was the fact that he hadn't already known. The clues had all been there; from the way Martin had grown quiet and let the conversation go on without him to the way he'd hidden behind his glass, staring disinterestedly across the restaurant as Douglas and Carolyn chatted. It had all been right there, clear as daybreak above the cloud-line and twice as bloody obvious. Douglas really should not have been surprised at all. In a lot of ways it sort of bothered him that he was.

It was in a backwater town somewhere in Poland that it happened. Of course they hadn't been doing anything so gauche as comparing first-times or previous lovers over dinner, but there had been a certain amount of laughing and commiserating about past relationships. Douglas's latest divorce was still fresh, a minor wound but one that ached and stung when he prodded it and allowing Carolyn to ramble on about her own matrimonial woes helped in an odd sort of way.

"I should add," Douglas said, interrupting a slightly nonsensical story about the former Mr Shappey and a pair of sock suspenders, "That there are much stranger things that have passed through the Richardson bedroom. Men, women, and on one particularly memorable occasion a yellow parakeet."

"A what?" Carolyn sputtered.

"Oh, don’t get me wrong," Douglas said. "I did not have carnal relations with the parakeet, but it did like to watch."

Douglas smirked with barely concealed amusement as Carolyn collapsed into helpless laughter, her hands wavering as she poured herself another shot of unpronounceable but apparently very drinkable Polish vodka before launching off into a particularly colourful diatribe about Arthur's father. Across the table Martin was re-filling his own glass, a pensive look on his face as he picked at the remains of his dinner.

"You alright, Martin?" Douglas said.

"Hm?" Martin jerked back to alertness at the sound of his name, blinking at Douglas a little drunkenly.

"I take it from your silence that you have no desire to join us in bad-mouthing your previous affairs of the heart. I'm assured that it's supposed to be terribly cathartic."

"I really don't have much to add," Martin said.

Douglas leaned back in his chair indolently. "I don't know whether to envy your admirable lack of malice or absolutely despise your integrity."

"Pretend it's a little of both?" Martin suggested and Douglas considered that for about half a second before dismissing it completely.

Carolyn picked that moment to hiccup and then giggle rather loudly, diverting Douglas's attention as she tried to signal for both a waiter and her suddenly intense need for a dessert menu, all without the benefit of being able to speak any Polish.

The conversation moved on after that point, Carolyn growing increasingly intoxicated and Martin increasingly subdued. By the time Douglas shepherded his colleagues back to their hotel and handed Carolyn over to a rather sleepy and startled Arthur, he'd almost forgotten that Martin had been matching Carolyn drink-for-drink all evening just because he was so very much quieter about it.

Like all good things though, Douglas mused, it was never going to last forever. The silence lingered only for as long as it took for Martin to collapse into bed on his side of their shared room. He sighed deeply and a little shakily as his head hit the pillow, a tiny, sad sort of noise, and one Douglas wasn't sure Martin was even aware of making.

"The bed keeps undulating," Martin murmured.

"That, oh wise and noble Captain," Douglas replied, "Is not the bed. That's the pint of vodka you're going to regret later." He reached out and flipped off the light with a meaningful click before shedding his clothes and climbing under the covers.

"Oh," Martin huffed. "It wasn't really a pint was it?"

"May as well have been. Just go to sleep, Martin. You're going to feel rotten in the morning."

Martin made an indecipherable noise as he jammed his face deeper into his mattress. There was a momentary hush, just long enough for Douglas to start drifting pleasantly towards sleep, before Martin decided to open his mouth.

"I hadn't... you know. Not before... It's why I couldn't say anything." Martin snuffled against the sheets and yawned expansively. "S'not integrity, you can't envy me. I just didn't have anything to say. Can't say stuff about stuff if you've never done it."

The statement seemed to come rather out of the blue, pretty much apropos of nothing, and Douglas rolled his eyes before answering.

"Never done what?" he asked.

"Anything," Martin sighed mournfully.

There was a pause, a moment so elongated Douglas wondered if Martin had fallen asleep in the middle of his thought. It was almost 2am and he was starting to wish Carolyn hadn't been quite so eager to splash around the cut-price potato juice during dinner. Especially not if it was going to make Martin such a maudlin, nonsensical drunk. Douglas was just starting to suspect that it would finally be safe to dismiss the whole issue and finally doze off when Martin started up again.

"It doesn't matter though, I suppose," Martin muttered. His words were half slurred, muffled against his blanket and Douglas had to strain to catch the rest of it. "I'm nearly thirty four, for God's sake, I've never even kissed anyone. I'm too scared of being laughed at to even try any more."

Douglas blinked in the darkness, confusion warring with a suddenly unpleasant suspicion.

"Martin?" he asked. "Do you mean-"

"Don't laugh at me, please don't laugh," Martin pleaded. His voice was trembling, and Douglas shook his head even though he knew Martin couldn't see it.

"I won't," he promised.

"I just wanted it to be better than-" There was a sigh and a vague, limp hand gesture. "I always thought it was going to mean something, or- or to matter. But nobody's going to want me, Douglas. Nobody even likes me. I'm just... I should just give up..."

Martin dissolved into a tearful shudder at that, breath hitching in humiliation as he rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head, curling into a protective ball before Douglas could even formulate any kind of response.

Douglas levered himself up and stared at the motionless heap on the opposite bed for a long moment. He'd already guessed that Martin wasn't exactly the most sexually experienced person in the world. The boy had never mentioned being in a relationship and he'd been single for the entire time Douglas had known him, but it was the first time he'd ever given any real thought to the idea that Martin was actually still a virgin.

He wasn't sure if it was impossibly pathetic or just strangely depressing. Perhaps it was a little of both, but it was somehow easy to believe purely because it was so very... _Martin_. Douglas shook his head bemusedly.

In the years they'd been flying together Martin had never hinted at even the vaguest details of his romantic life, though in retrospect Douglas realised the reasons for that did make a frightening amount of sense. Unfortunately by letting the vodka do the talking he rather suspected Martin had let slip a secret he'd been tenaciously clinging onto for quite a long while. The only question that remained was what Douglas was going to do with it now that he knew.

Across the room Martin's breath had finally levelled out, his body growing limp as drunken sleep overtook him. A pale bare arm slid out from under the covers to rest lax and palm-up against the sheets, his fingers twitching unsteadily as if searching for something. In the dark Douglas could just make out the thin turn of his wrist and the curl of his long, familiar hand.

Certainly, Martin had confided in him in a moment of great weakness and it would be churlish of Douglas to take advantage of something so personal. But on the other hand Martin did rather invite a little genial teasing when his own pomposity got the better of him. Douglas had only promised not to laugh, he hadn't promised not to bring it up again when the moment best suited him.

Lying awake, listening to the rumbling, drunken snores now emerging from under the duvet, Douglas rather graciously hoped that for Martin's sake he didn't remember any of it in the morning. Vodka confessions were bad enough; it was living with them through the hangover afterwards that was the hard part.

Besides, the element of surprise always did add an extra layer of usefulness to an already excellent bargaining tool.

\---

Martin eventually woke around noon the next day with a pounding headache, an impossibly upset stomach and little recollection of anything beyond dinner the night before. He cut such a pathetic figure huddled miserably over the hotel toilet that for once in his life Douglas chose to hold his tongue on the whole thing and silently slipped Martin a couple of painkillers and a slice of plain toast in between bouts of dry heaving.

It was a testament to how genuinely awful he must have felt that Martin didn’t even attempt to complain when Douglas took the take-off. Or the landing. Or everything in between. In fact he spent most of the journey huddled in his seat looking ashen and sweaty, his eyes squeezing closed desperately every time a flurry of turbulence bounced Gertie over Germany.

By the time they reached Fitton, Martin looked positively grey. His hands were trembling as he got to his feet and he swayed unsteadily as Arthur burst excitedly into the cabin.

"Great flight, chaps," he exclaimed. "Really bouncy! All that up and down, and up and down, like a roller coaster but lots, lots higher!"

"Thank you, Arthur," Douglas said, stretching lazily in his chair. "Thought you might enjoy it. How’s Carolyn doing?"

"I’m not sure. Mum shut herself in the loo and won’t talk to me, but she looked a little... uh..." Arthur paused. "A little like Skip, actually. Kind of green. Are you ok, Skip?"

"No," Martin moaned. "Oh, God..." He clutched his head miserably, tensed as if he was about to burp and then barged past Arthur, barely making it to the open passenger hatch before retching pathetically over the runway.

Douglas sighed and rolled his eyes, picking up Martin's forgotten hat and fetching a plastic beaker of water from the galley as he wandered through.

"Arthur, do you think you could see clear to driving Martin home? I’m not sure he’s quite up to it himself."

"No problem, Douglas," Arthur said. "Mum’s letting me drive her too. It'll be like a road trip!"

"To Fitton?" Douglas asked.

"Well, a very short road trip. But it'll still be fun!"

Martin whimpered and sank down to sit on the exit steps, hands over his eyes against the late evening sunshine as he rubbed at his throbbing temples. Arthur paused at the top of the steps, turning back to Douglas as if a thought had just struck him.

"Douglas?" he said warily. "They didn’t eat my fizzy yoghurt, did they? Only mum's dog had the last one, and then he kept throwing up in the kitchen, and then I got shouted at."

"No, Arthur," Douglas assured. He handed the beaker of water to Martin. "Just a little too much Polish cheer."

"Wow," said Arthur, impressed. "Given the way mum was singing last night, the Polish are even cheerier than I am."

"A notoriously cheery people, the Poles," Douglas agreed. "Also makers of fine and terrifying vodka."

"Please don't mention vodka," Martin mumbled.

"Time for you to head home, I think," Douglas said, clapping Martin on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "Arthur’s going to drive you."

Martin nodded weakly, clinging to the hand-rail. "Just a bit dizzy, that’s all," he said.

"No, you’re hung over," Douglas corrected firmly. "Lots of water, lots of sleep, try and eat something."

Martin blinked up at him, eyes pink-rimmed, his uniform wrinkled and limp. He looked the very picture of abject misery. "I’m really sorry," Martin whimpered. "I'm supposed to be the Captain. I shouldn’t have-"

"No, you shouldn't," Douglas interrupted. "But I’m hardly in a position to preach. We got home fine, that’s all that matters."

Martin looked away, shame clear on his features. The low summer sun caught the auburn in his hair, casting it flame red about his pale, drawn face, and it made him look almost translucent in the waning light. Douglas momentarily fought the urge to poke him just to see if he was still real.

"Put your hat on," Douglas muttered instead, the cap landing in Martin's arms as he stalked past. "You are still a Captain, even when you don't feel like one."

He didn't wait for Martin to reply, instead striding off across the tarmac to the terminal building.

\---

The next morning dawned hot and cloudless. It was perfect summer weather to coincide with a well-earned weekend off duty, and Douglas woke with both a smile on his face and an agenda in his mind.

Soaked in the rare fruits of Carolyn's largesse, it was true that Martin had exposed an uncharacteristic vulnerability, but Douglas had to admit that it was an intriguingly exploitable one. Virginity was probably the last thing Martin would openly admit to, but the fact of it was that he had and, more importantly, he clearly didn't remember doing it.

Douglas was more than honest enough to admit he had never been one to let an opportunity for a little personal gain slip by. The question was, of course, what exactly Martin would be willing to sacrifice for a continued tactful silence on the topic. It had to be worth a controlling share of the squidgy cheeses for at least a month or so. Perhaps even a temporary ban on complaining about the 'creative re-gifting' of contraband.

While he had no intention of being overtly cruel on such a personal topic, the idea of lording it over Martin's head just a little bit was too difficult to resist. After all, Martin had held no such compunction about bringing up Helena's slight misapprehension about Douglas's precise rank. Turnabout, he figured, was always fair play. As he climbed into his Lexus later that morning it was with an expression of ill-concealed mirth smeared across his features.

Douglas had been past Martin's flat a number of times, but he'd never actually needed to go inside it before. It was one of several cramped little units situated over a row of rather down-at-heel shops, just far enough out of Fitton's town centre to be unpleasantly cheap and inconveniently busy both at the same time. He spotted Martin's van parked up behind a rather dusty looking antique shop and, finding the door to the flats' shared stairwell conveniently unlocked, Douglas let himself in.

The building itself was solidly Victorian and the stairs inside were narrow and steep. The upper hall smelled strongly of perming solution from the hairdresser below and Douglas gave a slightly disdainful glance down the length of the passageway, gaze darting speculatively from the chipped paintwork to the dead potted fern someone had left at the top of the landing.

He rapped his knuckles loudly against Martin's door, head tilted as he listened for any sign of life from within.

He heard footsteps first, and then a bolt was slid back, the door swinging open just enough for Martin to stick his head out.

"Douglas?" Martin looked startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to check on you," Douglas said. "You didn’t look quite the thing yesterday."

Martin's expression shifted, the surprise fading under a slightly pinched look of discomfort. "Oh. Yes, I’m... sorry about that," he said quietly.

"Not terribly professional," Douglas conceded. "Hung-over vomiting on the runway isn’t usually considered conduct becoming of sir’s Captain-y hat."

"Don’t-" Martin winced. "I already feel terrible about it; you don’t have to hammer it home."

"Apologies, Martin," Douglas said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "It’s a just a little rare to see you so discomposed. Mind if I come in?"

Martin hesitated a moment, the tense lines around his mouth deepening fractionally before he stepped aside, opening the door enough to allow Douglas through.

The flat itself was small, more of a bed-sit really, but it was neat and reasonably clean, as long as you discounted the lingering chemical smell wafting up from underneath. It needed a coat of paint but it was faring better than the stairway outside. There was a single bed in the corner, the duvet thrown hastily across it, a kitchenette and tiny bathroom to one side, and not a lot else.

"I like it," Douglas said, glancing around. "Compact... Bijou..."

"Don’t rub it in," Martin sighed tiredly. "I know it’s a dump, Douglas, but some of us don’t live on a pilot’s salary. And don't pretend you're here out of concern for my health. What do you actually want?"

Douglas turned and finally stared at Martin properly. He seemed smaller out of uniform; less certain of himself, and considerably younger than Douglas would have expected. He was barefoot, wearing rather ill-fitting jeans and a faded Comic Relief t-shirt from some time in the 90s, the laundry-thinned cotton hanging loosely from slender shoulders. The stretched-out neck of the shirt revealed a flash of collarbones and the dip at the base of his throat and Douglas found himself watching, strangely fascinated, as Martin swallowed.

"Wanted to talk to you about Poland," Douglas heard himself say. "You're very revealing when you're drunk, you know."

Martin tensed, cringing in obvious distress as he turned his back to busy himself with the kettle.

"What is there to discuss?" he said. "I don't even remember any of it. I'm sure I made a suitable ass out of myself, so if you've come here to gloat, Douglas, just don't."

Martin took the only two mugs he seemed to own off the little tray of mis-matched crockery by the gas-ring, forcefully yanking the lid off a jar of instant coffee and dumping a heaped spoonful into one of the cups. He was about to do the same with the second before he paused, spoon hovering over the lip of the jar.

"I haven't got tea," he said flatly. "It's either coffee or nothing. There's probably some sugar but I think the milk went off."

Douglas blinked. Something in the tone sounded forced and unhappy and Martin's back was even more unnaturally stiff than usual. Douglas felt the trailing edge of the morning's amusement slipping from him with remarkable speed. "Martin?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Martin put the coffee jar down, dropping the spoon on the counter with a clatter as he braced his hands against the edge of the worktop. His head dropped, exposing the soft nape of his neck, the ridge of vertebrae just visible under delicate skin.

"I just feel so bloody stupid," Martin admitted. "I _knew_ I had to fly in the morning. I knew that and I drank all that bloody vodka anyway. I mean what if there'd been an emergency? I couldn't _do_ anything, Douglas. What sort of useless Captain does that make me?"

Douglas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Have you been stewing about this all night? It was just a mistake, Martin."

"No, it wasn't," Martin hissed. "A mistake would be if I thought it was water. I knew what I was doing, Douglas. Flying is the only thing I have and even then I keep cocking it up." His fingers tightened and he shook his head. "Christ, I'm not even a real pilot, I'm a part-time delivery boy with a stupid hobby."

"Oh, that's hardly fair-" Douglas started.

"Don't," Martin said. His voice was trembling. "Please, don't. Just leave it, Douglas. I'm sure whatever you came here to say is suitably hilarious and I will be appropriately humiliated by it when you drop the punch-line, so for once would you just take it as read and leave me alone?"

Douglas didn't move for a moment, overcome with sudden indecision. It was an unexpected feeling and he reached out as if to run his hand comfortingly across Martin's back before he checked the movement, jamming his hand into his pocket instead.

"I thought you might have wanted to know that you spent half an hour extolling the virtues of letting Hester McCauley be eaten by crocodiles," Douglas said. The lie fell off his tongue perhaps a little too easily but he didn't miss the way Martin flinched when he began to speak. "Then you tried to write a deeply loving ode to your shiny, shiny hat. That's all it was. I thought it was funny, and that you might have been amused by it. It was quite a spectacular ode."

Martin didn't reply, but the look of dull exhaustion just visible on his face said more than enough. Douglas took a hesitant step closer.

"Look, just because it's not your job as far as the tax office is concerned, it doesn't mean you're not a pilot. Alright, you drank too much. It shouldn't have happened, but I know you, Martin. You won't do it again. If I had a fiver for every time I've done that myself I could buy half of Fitton. Why do you think I'm _your_ co-pilot?"

Martin twisted his head a little, glancing at Douglas out of the corner of his eye.

"Crocodiles?" He sniffed wetly and Douglas had the horrible suspicion that Martin might have been just about to cry. "Really?"

"Might have been some alligators in there too."

Martin snorted disbelievingly, a shuddering laugh escaping despite himself and the tension in his shoulders seemed to uncoil as he wiped one suspiciously trembling hand across his nose. "I did not."

Douglas shrugged. "Ah, but as you already admitted, Martin. Only one of us knows for certain."

Martin cleared his throat self-consciously, looking down to stare stupidly at the kettle that had long since boiled and turned itself off.

"Did you want, uh-" He swallowed and gestured vaguely at the cups.

"Lunch, actually," Douglas said. "My treat."

Martin raised his head at that to stare at Douglas in surprise, forehead creasing in confusion.

"What? Why?" Martin asked.

"Because I'm hungry, Martin. Why else would a person want lunch?" Douglas said.

"I don't know," Martin admitted. "You always have an ulterior motive going on somewhere."

Douglas shrugged. "I have ulterior motives for almost everything," he said. "But in this case it extends only so far as I want to eat and a table for one is a horrible cliché. Are you coming or not?"

"I can't..." Martin started. "I have to move a wardrobe for somebody at one."

Douglas pursed his lips, fingers drumming uneasily against his thigh for a second before he spoke again.

"Look, Martin, I'll be honest with you," he said. "My divorce was just finalised. I am very bored and, dare I say it, in need of some company that isn't going to want fifty percent of everything I own. Just come and have lunch with me."

Martin swallowed, staring at the bare kitchenette indecisively for a moment before he finally gave a faint nod.

"Alright," he said at last.

The smile when Douglas saw it was fragile and a little wobbly, but it was better than what had been on his face before, and Douglas felt something stir inside him at the sight. It was a faint little flopping feeling in his chest, a bit like his heart turning over and as Douglas watched the clumsy, awkward flex of Martin's body as he moved around the flat, picking up his wallet and shoes, Douglas realised that this was probably more than a little bit not good.

\---

The first time Douglas had laid eyes on Martin, he'd assumed he was the new office boy. In that initial sweeping glance Douglas had judged him to be distantly attractive, colt-ish, uncoordinated, and definitely far too young to bother flirting with. It was a momentary consideration however, and one that had lasted only until Martin opened his mouth. Truthfully it had all been rather downhill after that point.

Watching him now from across the table of an overly-trendy cafe on Fitton's high street, Douglas allowed himself to worry. Martin was picking up the leftover crumbs of a piece of chocolate cake with a wet forefinger and sucking the digit gratefully, almost moaning in contentment. Douglas wasn't certain if he was more disturbed by Martin's obvious hunger or the slightly obscene noise he was making because of it.

His original assessment still lingered; Martin was a good looking boy. Maybe not conventionally pretty, but fine-boned and breakable. He was also quite frighteningly naive. It was a problem even more apparent now Douglas knew he'd never had so much as a drunken teenage fumble to his name, let alone any kind of relationship.

A harried-looking waitress came by to whisk away the empty plate and Martin watched it go a little mournfully. Douglas looked at his own dessert, still un-touched, and he shoved it across the table.

"Do you want this?" he said. "I think I'm still too full after that frighteningly hispter Panini."

Martin blinked at him, blushing slightly. "Are you sure? That's very generous of you, Douglas."

"I know," Douglas said. "Funny sort of day, isn't it?"

Martin blushed deeper, but stuffed a large forkful of Bakewell tart in his mouth none the less.

The thing was, Douglas mused, he did rather like Martin most of the time. Probably more than he was actually willing to admit. Of course Martin was a trifle single-minded on the subject of aviation, but it was hard to know now whether that was a cause or a symptom of his rather solitary existence. It wasn't pity, however, that Douglas felt stirring in the centre of his chest, nor was it sympathy though if he was honest there was a hint of that underneath.

Maybe it was compassion, but Douglas found himself lingering perhaps just a little bit too much on the parting glance he'd caught of Martin still sitting on Gertie's stairway the day before. His head had been bowed, hat clutched to his chest, arms wrapped around himself protectively and he had looked, for a moment, very, very alone.

What must it be like, Douglas realised suddenly, to go through life without ever touching another person? Without kissing anyone or being held? Without ever feeling like you were desired, or _wanted_...

"Don't you ever get lonely?" Douglas asked.

Martin’s head jerked up, eyes wide and quite startlingly blue, confusion clear in his gaze.

"Living by yourself, I mean," Douglas clarified. "I've tried it a few times; it doesn't suit me at all."

"I don't know," Martin admitted carefully. His voice was calm, a little thoughtful, but there was something brittle and evasive in his expression, and Douglas found himself unable to look away. "I don't really think about it. You just get used to things being how they are, I suppose."

 _Liar_ , Douglas thought, though he schooled his features into careful neutrality. He knew how empty his own house felt, filled with vacant spaces where Helena's things had been, replaced by the Decree Absolute still sitting in its envelope on the kitchen table. It was positively hateful to come home to sometimes.

Douglas sighed, swirling the spoon in his tea until he realised Martin was still staring at him.

"What?" he asked mildly.

Martin looked away, pushing the last fraction of pie-crust around his plate.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing, really. I just- I haven't asked you how you've been getting on since the divorce."

"Oh, you know me, Martin," Douglas shrugged. "I'm sure I shan't be alone for long." He winced inwardly as soon as the words were out but there was nothing he could do to take them back and he watched Martin smile uncomfortably.

"No, I suppose you won't," Martin said, flashing Douglas a brief look before pushing his emptied plate away.

Douglas took another sip of his tea and glanced at his watch. "It's almost one, by the way" he said. "You'd better go and move that wardrobe."

Martin straightened, looking at the clock on the cafe wall in alarm.

"Oh," he gasped. "Damn, I’m going to be late." He got to his feet hastily, patting distractedly at his pockets in search of the van keys. "Thanks for lunch, Douglas. It was jolly good of you. I-" He broke off, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'll see you Monday, alright?"

Douglas nodded and watched as Martin dashed for the door, almost stumbling over his own feet as he vanished out onto the pavement. Douglas followed the untidy mop of flame red hair darting between pedestrians until Martin was lost from view and he drummed his fingers against the tabletop thoughtfully.

That had... not gone like he’d anticipated.

The thing was, he realised, teasing Martin was second nature but there was a difference between needling him about the petty annoyances in life, and tormenting him purposefully about something that made him so clearly unhappy. Because he _was_ unhappy. It was obvious the moment Douglas really started looking, and now he’d seen it he couldn’t seem to make it stop.

The problem was that Martin was just so dreadfully insecure. Not surprising, perhaps, but spending your life believing that nobody really cared about you either way was bound to knock your confidence a bit. All he needed was a nice girl (or boy, Douglas amended, he wasn’t completely certain either way) who was going to be patient enough to get Martin to unwind. Because heaven knew that would take effort. Getting him to un-bend enough for a little harmless necking would be a challenge, let alone actual sex.

Perhaps the most disconcerting part was that Douglas knew, in all fairness, he could probably manage it if he tried. It wouldn’t even be that difficult because for some ridiculous reason Martin already trusted him. Douglas could screw him until he was cross-eyed with pleasure and completely wrung dry. The point of it was that he knew he absolutely _shouldn't_. It would exploit the worst kind of advantage, and while there were many things Douglas was willing to manipulate for his own benefit, that was not one of them. Martin was too young, and too guileless for that sort of seduction, and Douglas knew it would be the one thing against which he had absolutely no defences.

The image of Martin stretched out underneath him, sleepy-eyed and vulnerable skittered through his mind before he could stop it and Douglas sharply and very firmly pressed the thought down again. He was not going to sleep with Martin. The boy needed a relationship, not a quick lay, and Douglas was more than aware that his own track record in that department was not exactly faultless. Besides, his own current fervour was obviously borne of sympathy and a certain degree of fairly prurient fascination. It was bound to pass as quickly as it had arrived and when it did the only thing that would happen was that everybody would get hurt.

No, Martin just needed a little confidence, that was all. A friendly boost. A platonic helping hand to find his own solution. A nudge on the road to happiness...

Which was rather why, when Douglas finally did end up kissing Martin, he could honestly say with hand on heart that he absolutely, categorically had not meant to.


	2. Chapter 2

It happened six weeks later, in The Netherlands of all places, and that was probably ironic in some way. Honestly though, it was all rather weird to tell the truth. Not unpleasant, not by any means, but unexpected certainly.

Martin's mouth had been soft and uncertain against Douglas's, hesitant in a way that made Douglas draw back rather sharply in realisation. Because knowing, well... _what he knew_ , the very last thing he expected in response to such an unsolicited advance was for Martin to look up at him with an expression that was both warmly dazed and really quite pleasantly startled.

He definitely hadn't expected that.

It came about, in the way that things usually do when you don't plan them; mostly because it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was also in no small part due to the fact that Douglas's body had decided to act before his brain had clicked into gear.

Admittedly Douglas was not best known for his impetuous exuberance, but even he was not entirely immune to the habitual pull of sense memory. He'd spent most of his adult life either married or sharing a bed with someone, and the instinct to lean in for a goodnight kiss after turning off the light was one of those things he just sort of did when sharing a small space with a warm body.

It was unfortunate that on this occasion the bed belonged to a cheap hotel that had lost half their booking, and it had resulted in Douglas having to share a fairly conservative double bed with his awkwardly reluctant Captain. (A Captain, he had to remember, who'd baulked a little at the idea of Douglas sharing that bed in nothing but his underwear. Which had always been a concession in itself as Douglas had been sure to point out, as he didn't think Martin would really appreciate him sleeping naked.)

Of course an accident was how it started, and indeed how it should have ended if he'd had any sense left in his head at the time. What Douglas really hadn't anticipated was that the innocent little peck on the lips he'd instigated was going to be followed by an astoundingly intense need to lean back down and do it again. Which was precisely what happened right before his brain finally snapped back into awareness and pointed out that this was probably a Very Bad Thing.

"That was... uhm-" Martin cleared his throat self-consciously. If it had been light enough to see, Douglas was sure there would have been a deep flush of pink cresting over his cheeks; one that probably spread all the way down his neck and under his sleep shirt as well.

"I can honestly say I didn't mean to do that," Douglas admitted.

He felt rather than saw Martin's shoulders stiffen as he choked out a curious little "Oh?" and Douglas frowned.

"Yes, well. In fairness that wasn't quite what I meant to say, either," he added.

"Douglas? What, uh-... What did you mean to say?" Martin managed and Douglas sighed, flipping the light back on and propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Martin's shuttered, wary face.

"Alright, I meant precisely what I said," Douglas stated after a moment's consideration. "I didn't mean to do that. I will admit I enjoyed it but I hadn't intended to actually do anything in the first place. I am dreadfully sorry, Martin. It's rather a force of habit, sharing a bed with someone."

"Oh, well, that's-" Martin's mouth twisted into a weak attempt at a dismissive smile. "Perfectly understandable, of course. Accidents happen..." He trailed off suddenly and, as if it was only just catching up with the conversation, Martin's eyebrow rose as a look of mild incomprehension settled over his features. "Wait a minute," he said. "Did you just say you liked it?"

"Mm," Douglas mused. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"But... but..." Martin sputtered. "But..."

"But I hadn't intended to act upon it, no," Douglas interrupted. "Look, it was an accident. I wasn't flinging myself on you in the hopes you might be passingly gay and up for a shag."

Martin swallowed uneasily, wincing a little before he cleared his throat.

"Yes, uh... you do know it's bit more than 'passingly', don't you?" he cringed.

"Oh." Douglas blinked down at him, a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. "Well... Good to know for certain."

"And that, uh... the..." he gestured awkwardly at his mouth, Douglas's eyes settling in Martin's full, pink lower lip. "-Was quite nice..."

Douglas's expression shifted, the threatened smile quickly becoming a bit of a leer. The instinct to flirt was almost as fierce as the sudden desire to give in to temptation and slide his tongue into Martin's mouth.

"Does that mean you'd like me to do it again?"

"O-only if you want to?" Martin squeaked.

Douglas didn't reply, resting a hand against the side of Martin's jaw instead, tilting his head back a little before leaning down and kissing him. It was barely more than a chaste, firm press of lips, his thumb on Martin's chin coaxing his mouth open a fraction, enough to taste the warmth of Martin's breath and the shaky edge of a moan as it escaped him. Douglas kept his tongue to himself, already aware that he could feel Martin panting, soft and breathy and a little overwhelmed, and he pulled back far enough to see that Martin's eyes had slipped shut, his expression strangely awe-struck.

Douglas licked his lips thoughtfully, taking in the taste and then the sight of Martin spread out before him. It was even more appealing than he'd imagined, though the niggling memory of his previous resolution not to seduce Martin at all kept flaring viciously in the back of his head. That had been Martin's first kiss, he realised belatedly. Oh dear.

Douglas flopped over onto his back with a resigned groan, staring at the ceiling in silence for a moment. He heard Martin shift a little beside him and tilted his head just enough to catch the questioning look on his face.

"Did I do something wrong?" Martin started uncertainly and Douglas shook his head.

"No, no. Very nice," he replied distractedly. "It really was. Absolutely smashing. It's just... a bit awkward. I had rather resolved myself not to push."

"You're not pushing," Martin offered. "Why would that be pushing? I don't mind."

"I know that," Douglas said. "But, well, it's rather complicated."

Martin didn't reply and when Douglas finally looked across at him, the man's fingers were twisting uneasily at the edge of the sheet, crumpling the linen into tight, fisted coils. The look on his face was hovering a little too close to the edge of the humiliated defeat Douglas had seen that day in Martin's flat and he opened his mouth to say something before Martin cut him off.

"It's alright, Douglas. You don't have to lie about it," Martin said quietly. "If you want to forget it, that's fine. You can just say."

"That's not it at all," Douglas said. "I'm trying not to take advantage here, Martin."

"But I said you could, how is that possibly taking advantage?"

Douglas sighed expansively, leaning up on his elbow once more.

"Because it is," Douglas said exasperatedly. "You're just going to have to trust me on this."

"I don't understand," Martin admitted and Douglas shook his head.

"You're a very nice boy, and it was a very nice kiss. But it was an accident. It was on entirely the opposite end of my intentions and I shouldn't have done it."

"A nice boy?" Martin looked at him incredulously, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "What does that even mean, Douglas?"

"It means it isn't fair if I push you into something just because of a lack of options," Douglas said, frustrated. "I'm not a good choice for you. It shouldn't be someone like me who-"

Douglas snapped his mouth shut, biting back on the rest of that thought and Martin narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Who does what?" Martin said slowly.

Douglas gusted out a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "Damnit. Fine. I know you're still a virgin, Martin. That night in Poland you rather let it slip."

"Oh... God..." A look of abject horror passed over Martin's face. "I said that?"

Douglas rubbed a hand over his eyes warily. "More like slurred it, you were blind, stinking drunk at the time."

"You knew? All this time?" Martin demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to," Douglas admitted. "But in the end I didn't like to mention it. There was no need to let on and you seemed rather upset about the whole thing."

"Upset?" Martin parroted back, eyes widening. "Of course I'm upset. You think I like being too terrified of my own stupid awkwardness to... to... to even be _normal_?"

"Now, steady on, Martin-"

"And now you pity me," he choked out. "That's what this has all been about, isn't it? You being nice and taking me to lunch. For God's sake, Douglas. You don't need to feel obligated to kiss me just because you bloody well feel sorry for me."

"Oh, hang it, Martin," Douglas snapped. "Just because I didn't intend to doesn't mean I didn't like it. Or that I didn't want to. And what's all this claptrap about normality all of a sudden?"

"Oh, what difference does it even make?" Martin cried. "You already said it was a mistake, that's fine, you can stop now. I absolve you of your misplaced sense of duty to charitably de-virginise me. God," he paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "Who else knows? Was this some sort of a bet from your friends at the Frog and Fish-hook or whatever your horrid illegal pub is called now?"

"No," Douglas said firmly. "Absolutely not. I would never do that, Martin. Never."

"Douglas, please..." Martin groaned miserably.

"Look, I know you're embarrassed," Douglas said, "But you needn't be. Alright, I didn't intend to kiss you, I promised myself I wasn't going to pressurise you when I didn't even know if you were gay or not. I didn't want to upset you, or scare you, or put you in a corner. I didn't intend to let you know about Poland either, but here we are." He frowned. "Contrary to popular belief, I do care about you, Martin. I actually rather like you."

"No you don’t," Martin interrupted. "You think I’m petty and small."

"Well, alright," Douglas admitted. "I do. But it doesn’t mean I don’t like you regardless. More's the pity, I didn't say anything because I honestly though you might deserve to have other options."

Martin's face creased in desperation and he ran a hand distractedly over his hair. "You can't possibly mean that you would actually agree to have sex with me of your own volition?" he said. "That's just insane, Douglas. Why would you even possibly want that when you didn't even want to kiss me in the first place?"

"Martin," Douglas said quietly, "In all seriousness, you can't actually be serious. Have you listened to a single word I've said?"

Martin laughed a little hysterically. "Oh for heaven's sake will you please just let it drop? What else did I tell you in my drunken soul-spilling rant? That I wanted it to be you? That I spend far too much time wondering what that would be like? That I turn into a babbling idiot around you because I don't know how to act like I'm not a fourteen year old girl and I didn't want you to know because I already knew it was pathetic? Did I make my humiliation complete? Is that why you're doing this? Did I tell you that too?"

Douglas stilled, eyebrows drawn together in concern as he reached out to brush the edge of his thumb against Martin's tensely gritted jaw. He watched the muscles in Martin's throat work as he swallowed and Martin squeezed his eyes shut at the contact, shame stark and tightly-drawn across his features.

"No. You didn't tell me any of that," Douglas admitted.

Martin's eyes blinked open, staring beseechingly at the ceiling. "Oh well then, tonight just keeps getting better."

Douglas paused, not entirely certain how to continue. "Is it true?" he asked and Martin grimaced, twisting his head away to stare at the far wall, the stretch of his exposed neck smooth and pale and peculiarly vulnerable.

"If I take your slightly overwrought silence as a yes then that makes it a good thing, surely?" Douglas pointed out. "You can't claim I was doing it under obligation if I didn't know I was obliged to in the first place. Is it so impossible to believe that someone might actually want to sleep with you?"

Martin seemed to sag at that, suddenly defeated. One long, pale hand curled in his dishevelled auburn hair, clutching at the roots a little desperately.

"But why?" he repeated, frustration bare in his tone. "Why would you want to waste your time on me when you could have anybody that you wanted."

"I'll grant you, it's a sod of a question, but it rather cuts both ways," Douglas said. "I'm almost old enough to be your father. I have three ex-wives and... well, one daughter that I actually know about. I'm not exactly a model of emotional stability. Fine, it doesn't matter as a colleague but really shouldn't the question be why you're so eager to settle for a grizzled and cynical, yet still strangely glorious, old Sky-God? You could do much better yourself, Martin."

"But I don't want to do better," Martin said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I don't want something else. I-" He swallowed. "I don't feel safe with other people, Douglas. I can't stop thinking that they're going to laugh at me, or make it all into a joke because I don't know what I'm doing, but it's different when it's you. You tease me all the time but it's not the same. I know it's pathetic," he finished lamely. "But I thought, if it was you, then at least you wouldn't be horrible to me when you found out, and now you already know about... well, _everything_. You already know that I'm a... a stupid, useless mess and I'm sorry I don't know what to do. You've been unexpectedly nice actually and I'm probably making it all worse but-"

"Martin," Douglas interrupted gently. "I am flattered, but you really are spectacularly babbling now."

The "Sorry," when it came was small and subdued, thick with embarrassment and Martin lapsed into anxious silence, eyes flicking restlessly, settling anywhere but on Douglas.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Douglas asked carefully.

Martin's tongue slipped out to moisten his lips and he gave a short little nod even as he clutched the bed-sheet tighter, nervous fingers still mauling the rumpled cotton. Douglas reached out and stilled the anxious fidgeting, leaning a little closer so his bare leg brushed lightly against the side of Martin's pyjama-clad thigh.

"Alright," Douglas said. "But you have to understand there's no pressure. If you want to stop, for any reason, just say so. You can say no, to anything, any time you want, it's ok."

"You mean, you-?"

"If you want me to."

Martin nodded shakily and tugged self-consciously at the front of his t-shirt. "Should I... I mean, am I supposed to-"

Douglas smiled at him a little bemusedly. "I was actually just going to kiss you for a bit first and see how it goes," he said. "I was rather enjoying that till we got so sidetracked."

Martin trembled a little at that suggestion, his breath still sharp and too fast but the bare edge of something hopeful seemed to flare in his eyes, his body hitching as Douglas pressed a broad, heavy palm against his waist. There was a moment of almost comical surprise in his expression, Martin's eyes widening in shock before he seemed to almost melt into that simple contact. His thin body was so painfully starved of touch Douglas could almost see the fear and desperate need warring beneath the surface and Douglas's expression softened in sympathy, schooling his features to be as reassuring as he could before he dipped his head to press his mouth carefully against Martin's.

The kiss was slow and tentative at first, Martin gingerly leaning into the sensation. His eyes slipped closed as Douglas's hand dragged up across his slender arm and shoulder to cup the back of his head, all the while exploring nervous lips with soft licks and gentle presses.

Sweet, that was the only thing that really crossed Douglas’s mind. The taste of it, of sugar and peppermint toothpaste, warm on his tongue as Douglas finally coaxed his way into Martin’s mouth. It was as addictive as the sounds it drew from the delicately pliant body underneath him, hungry, unexpected little noises, Martin’s fingers hesitant against Douglas’s chest.

Martin’s tongue was warm and slick and passive as Douglas guided the kiss, fingers trailing down to slide just under the edge of Martin’s t-shirt. The shock of skin on skin caused Martin to gasp and Douglas lingered there, thumb pushing the shirt up Martin's stomach and inch or two, fingertips skimming lightly over the narrow line of bared skin.

"You can relax, you know," Douglas murmured against his lips. "It is supposed to be fun, I'm not going to test you on it later."

It startled a nervous laugh out of Martin and Douglas felt his own mouth curling into a smile in response, looking down affectionately at the man still half rigid with fear underneath him.

"There," Douglas said, his thumb sweeping back and forth against Martin's flat belly. "You don’t smile anywhere near enough. It looks rather good on you."

"Douglas-" Martin flushed self-consciously, unable to quite meet Douglas’s gaze.

"Well it’s true," Douglas said, leaning closer to nuzzle encouragingly against the side of Martin's nose. The brief contact urged Martin's head back and Douglas brushed those parted, expectant lips with his own as a reward, delivering a soft, breathy kiss before pressing his mouth against the smooth curve of Martin’s jaw.

Martin inhaled sharply and squirmed at the unexpected touch, Douglas’s hand sliding slowly up the inside of Martin's T-shirt. Douglas's palm sought out ribs and the softness of Martin's unprotected stomach before finally palming over the crest of a nipple, feeling Martin jerk in surprise as he smoothed it teasingly with his thumb. The bitten-down little noise of pleasure that fell from Martin's flushed, pouted lips sounded utterly delicious and Douglas couldn't help wanting to lick into that yielding mouth in search of more.

Lazy minutes of exploration merged and heated the air around them, Douglas drawing forth soft moans and stifled whimpers from Martin's throat, touch lingering over the things that made Martin hiss and arch underneath him. His flesh was so sensitive, so responsive, and his reactions so unguarded it sent a bolt of heat through Douglas to realise he was the first person ever to touch Martin this way. The only person, in fact, and he redoubled his efforts at the thought, sliding his leg carefully between Martin's in his need to get closer, kissing him again until they were both dizzy and yearning.

Douglas forced himself to pull back long enough just to help yank Martin’s shirt over his head, taking barely a second to glance down at the pale, slender body beneath him before needing to capture Martin’s lips once more. The kiss pushed deeper this time, hungrier, Martin finally beginning to respond as long, delicate fingers clutched at Douglas’s shoulders.

Douglas reached up, curling a hand over Martin’s wrist and guiding the palm down to rest on the centre of his chest. The feel of Martin’s fingers spreading inquisitively across his skin made Douglas moan against Martin’s tongue, mouths finally parting in need of air, lips slick and wet as Martin's fingers ghosted over Douglas's cheek.

Douglas smiled and pressed his face against the soft stretch of muscle where Martin's shoulder met his neck, mouthing delicately at the sensitive skin there.

"Douglas-" Martin whispered, "What should I do?"

"Anything you want," Douglas murmured. "Whatever feels good, it’s all just great, I promise."

Martin almost laughed again, another surprised little huff of breath as Douglas ran a warm, possessive caress over Martin’s chest, delighting in the quiet sighs it drew when he rubbed at Martin's soft, pink nipples, teasing them before dragging his hand down to splay low on Martin's abdomen. Douglas let his fingers dip and explore as he kissed and sucked delicate neck beneath his lips, hand rising to trace the line of barely-visible ribs before Martin flinched and let out a startled squeak, jerking sharply in Douglas's hold.

Douglas froze. "Ooh, the captain is ticklish?" he crooned.

"Absolutely not!" Martin insisted, "Douglas, don’t you dare..."

Martin's eyed widened as Douglas’s face lifted into a wicked smirk, his fingers crooking lightly against Martin’s left side as he twisted down to blow a vicious raspberry against the right. Martin squealed and wiggled in shock, arms flailing against Douglas’s shoulders as he dissolved into helpless little squeaks, batting pleadingly at the wandering hands until Douglas finally relented, popping his head up to grin dirtily at Martin, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Martin was panting raggedly, his skin flushed from exertion and he shook his head at the ceiling.

"You utter sod," Martin said.

Douglas smiled, his hands flat and soothing as they dragged down to rest on Martin's pyjama-clad hips for a moment.

"That is true," Douglas admitted. He propped himself up on his arms, body shifting to insinuate himself intimately between Martin’s legs and he looked down fondly at the man now captured beneath him. "On the other hand, it did make you laugh, and that was really rather the point. You are quite lovely when you relax a little."

Martin glanced at him, cheeks darkening again on another uncontrolled blush and Douglas watched appreciatively as heat crept out across Martin's ears and shoulders, cresting at his collarbones just as Douglas had somehow known it would.

"You do go very red when I flatter you," he commented.

Martin opened his mouth to reply but Douglas captured the curve of Martin’s lush, tempting lower lip before he could form the words, nipping at it gently, drawing a soft sigh from his opened mouth instead. Douglas could feel the growing point of warmth centred between them as they kissed, Martin’s cock beginning to lengthen and firm under the layer of cotton, pressing against Douglas’s abdomen. Douglas shifted his leg slightly, pushing closer, adding a brush of friction to the proximity and intimate heat already building there.

Martin shuddered and moaned breathlessly into Douglas's mouth, hips canting upwards as an instinctual response as his fingers flexed against Douglas’s waist. Mouth still occupied, Douglas dragged a broad, steady palm down the outside of Martin’s thigh. A squeeze of the firm, lean muscle guided Martin's leg up and out, spreading him wider as Douglas pushed his hand under the waistband of the soft pyjama bottoms to cup the tempting curve of Martin's backside.

Martin let out a faint, abortive gasp, whole body tensing in expectation and Douglas stilled his caress, parting from Martin's lips to breathe slow and warm against his cheek.

"It's alright," Douglas murmured soothingly. "We won't do that. Certainly not tonight. Not ever if you don’t want to."

"You can if you like," Martin swallowed thickly "I- I wouldn’t stop you..."

Douglas frowned, eyes focused on Martin's swollen, kiss-bruised lips.

"I know," he murmured. "That's why we're not going to."

Martin's eyes seemed to grow suspiciously watery at that and Douglas kissed his forehead softly, brushing his cheeks and eyes, soothing him with closeness and gentle caresses. Martin's chin jerked up pleadingly, seeking tentatively for the warm, familiar push of Douglas’s tongue against his own and Douglas obliged, savouring it for a long moment, only pulling back with a soft lick at Martin's plumped, scarlet mouth so he could finally see the dazed, passion-drugged expression looking back at him.

"We're not going to do that tonight," Douglas repeated softly. "We can try it at some point, of course we can, but certainly not right now and it would only end up hurting you if we did. It takes preparation and unless you've started carrying condoms and lube in your flight case..."

Martin shook his head a little bashfully and Douglas grinned at him, affectionately stroking the rounded curve of Martin's bottom as he spoke. "It’s not all about trying to get inside someone as quickly as possible, Martin, trust me on this." He skimmed his lips across Martin's chin, softly, teasingly, the lightest of touches brushing there before Douglas lipped delicately at Martin's ear.

"Not everyone likes anal, and it’s fine, it doesn’t matter." His voice was dark and sensual and Douglas felt the shiver that trembled unbidden down Martin's spine. "As long as everybody enjoys themselves that’s all that’s important."

"Are you?" Martin asked unsteadily. "Enjoying it?" His voice was small and uneven and Douglas huffed softly in amusement, withdrawing his hand from down the back of Martin's pyjamas to circle his thumb slowly over one of those deliciously responsive, sweet, pink nipples. He caught Martin's eye for a brief moment before ducking down to take the other one into his mouth.

"Absolutely."

He growled his answer around the soft nub of flesh, his tongue running in rough circles as Martin arched and mewled in response. Douglas grinned to himself and sealed his mouth more firmly around the sensitive bud, sucking at it hungrily, holding tighter to Martin's body as he squirmed and gasped under Douglas's assault. When it was finally released, the flesh was blushed dark and glistening with saliva; a sparkling, tender jewel on Martin's pale chest and Douglas dragged heavy fingers across it, squeezing and rubbing languidly as he slid over to suck just as hungrily against the other side.

Martin moaned and clung on desperately, hands finally tangling in Douglas's hair as his legs stretched wider around the body on top of him. His knees seemed to draw up of their own volition and he began to rock his hips against the heat and pressure centred there, feet flat against the mattress as he squirmed and rutted instinctively against Douglas's weight.

Douglas released the sensitised nipple with a satisfied hum, rising up so he could once more latch on to Martin's elegant neck. The boy was going to be marked there in the morning, Douglas thought vaguely. His mouth alternated between sucking soft purple love-bites and murmuring reassurances and he felt Martin tremble as he finally spread his palm low on Martin's belly, pushing his hand slowly between their bodies. This time down the front of Martin's pyjamas.

Douglas's hand was broad and a little callused, cupping the flesh between Martin's legs with proprietary confidence and Martin cried out sharply at the sensation, gaping helplessly as he found himself unable to stop rocking into the loose grip that covered him. Douglas took it as an invitation, plundering hungrily into Martin's open mouth, swallowing the desperate little sounds he made and muffling them with the thrust of his tongue as he tugged clumsily at the fabric separating them. An awkward shuffling of limbs tangled and shoved at the pyjamas, straining and pulling until they were pooled around Martin's ankles and left discarded on the bed. Douglas's fingers dragged heavily across the decadently bared skin of Martin's inner thighs, splaying over his groin before wrapping a fist possessively around his cock.

The effect was spectacular, Martin's body jerking into the touch as if electrified, his mouth growing slack with pleasure as Douglas licked sinfully between his parted lips. Douglas's own erection was hard and straining against the inside of his shorts, neglected but hardly of concern when he had Martin so pliant and wanton in his arms. The boy was honestly and unashamedly moaning with need as Douglas set up a slow, leisurely pace, caressing him from root to tip with languid, easy strokes. Martin's back curled in a lithe, sensual arc with each thrust, his body moving entirely beyond his control and he squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure.

"Douglas..." Martin's breath hitched around the name, head rolling on the pillow as his face creased. His hips jerked desperately and he tightened his fingers against Douglas's back, hands straying down to push pleadingly at the band of Douglas's underwear.

Douglas let go only to shove the garment down, the fabric twisting around his thighs as Martin's hand slid between them to touch the heat of Douglas's erection. The caress was tentative but Douglas hissed in appreciation as he resumed his achingly slow stroking of Martin's cock.

"Tighter," Douglas breathed. "You won't hurt me,"

Martin nodded and whimpered, hand flexing, mimicking Douglas's movements on his own flesh. The slow sweet pressure was torturous, the feel of Douglas's hand almost more than Martin could take. The sensation was familiar enough from countless nights of masturbation but Martin's imagination had never provided him with the intensity that came with the real thing; the heat and pressure or the solidity of another person, the feel of skin and lips and fingers, uncontrollable and unanticipated. It was both wonderful and overwhelming. It was all-consuming need and the desperate desire to surrender, a hundred pleasures merging together into a low, fierce ache throbbing in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh... close..." he whimpered, fist working frantically over Douglas's flesh as if that increase in tempo would somehow reflect in the pace of the hand on his own erection. It didn't and Martin bit hard into his lip, free hand burying itself in the hair at the nape of Douglas's neck, his muscles tightening as the sharp, desperate edge of orgasm swelled just out of his grasp.

Douglas's fingers were slick with pre-come, Martin's cock dark and heavy as he stroked it, thumb tracing rough circles just under the crown and Martin arched forward with a pathetic little cry, his face hidden against Douglas's shoulder as he shuddered and tensed roughly.

Martin was almost silent as came, stifled gasps and the taut jerk of his head both muffled against the bare skin of Douglas's chest. Release seemed to take him almost completely by surprise and Martin let out a single choked little sob, body helpless as semen finally spattered wetly across Douglas's hand. He cupped the end of Martin's cock, catching the majority in his palm before it could drip messily onto the shivering stomach below, holding tightly as Martin fell apart in his arms.

Martin's chest was heaving, lungs gasping for breath as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm, toes curled tightly against the back of Douglas's thighs. His touch had grown loose and still on Douglas's shaft and Douglas let his head rest against Martin's cheek reassuringly, tasting the sweet huff of his breath before wrapping wet fingers around Martin's limp, slender hand and guiding it back into movement.

Martin's cheeks were flushed scarlet, his colour high, an expression of overwhelmed bliss on his face as he finally peeled his eyes open to look up at Douglas. The expression there was awed and sated, nakedly grateful in a way that sent heat rushing through Douglas's body. Affection and desire preceded the swelling tide of pleasure coalescing in his gut, the friction around his cock pushing him over the edge almost before he'd realised it. Ejaculate spattered wetly against the inside of Martin's thigh, streaking hot and white and slippery, beautifully filthy against Martin's flushed skin as Douglas gasped harshly above him.

It took a moment for his body to finally respond, but Douglas eventually peeled Martin's hand from his spent cock, twining their sticky, damp fingers together as he flopped down on the bed. Exhausted breathing mixed heavy and satisfied in the quiet hotel room as Douglas kicked off the underwear that was still clinging uncomfortably around his knees. When he looked over again, Martin's eyes had slid shut once more, luscious mouth curled into a faint smile even though he seemed to have sunk into a pleasantly sated torpor. Douglas nudged him lightly, their joined hands coming to rest low on Martin's pale stomach.

"Are you alright?" Douglas asked.

Martin responded with a dreamy hum, rubbing his head back against the pillow before he rolled over onto his side. Fingers still joined he pulled Douglas's arm with him like a blanket, obliging Douglas to spoon up against his back and Douglas snorted his amusement, mouth pressed against Martin's hair.

"Ticklish _and_ a snuggler? Who'd have thought?"

"If you tell Carolyn, I'll take every landing off you for the rest of forever," Martin mumbled.

"You wouldn't dare," Douglas said amiably. He tightened his grip around Martin none the less, shifting a little until he found a comfortable position, curled around Martin's lean frame. "Anyway, you're going to get too hot, realise you're incredibly sticky and want some space in about, oh, ten minutes. Feel free to give me a nudge when you do."

Martin ignored him, smiling dreamily, his fingers the only thing still moving as he rubbed idly at the mingled release still smeared on Douglas's knuckles.

"Douglas?" he asked eventually.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"What on earth for?" Douglas asked.

"For this. It was... really nice," Martin admitted and Douglas snorted lightly behind him.

"Entirely self-serving, I promise you," Douglas murmured. "If it wasn't nice I'm sure I'd never persuade you to do it again."

"You want to?" Martin asked hopefully.

There was a faint edge of something vulnerable and anxious in his voice and Douglas huffed warmly against the back of Martin's neck.

"Go to sleep, you ridiculous boy," he said. Though if he held Martin just a little bit closer afterwards then, well... that was probably just an accident too.


End file.
